Diary of a Rebel
by xXxTylerxXx
Summary: In a shattering moment of bloodletting,Naruto will be transformed. Hunted by the mortal and undying alike,caught up in a deadly erotic triangle that could damn him her forever,he is about to break the one taboo no man/woman has ever dared break. . .
1. preface

_**Preface**_

_**The story you are about to read is true. It has been edited from the diaries(or journals) of a certain unfortunate young man named Naruto Uzamaki. What he has wriiten is a most unusual experience of transforming from a human to a monster.**_

_**In the process of handing this report over to my chief editor I faced the protests of the most powerful memebers of the company.**_

_**Nonetheless it is my conviction that the public has a right to know the hidden war between the living and the dead currently taking place in this country-and throughout the world. The very fact that these memories must be published as fiction is indicative of how reluctant most people are to accept the grim truth. Still I believe that it is the public's right to recognize the face of the enemy. You may believe what I have to say or not. In either case, consider yourself warned.**_

_**Tyler Oiche**_

_**Ex-writer of Hades Corp. .**_


	2. Chapter 1

_Based off a story by: M.C._

_Diary of a Rebel_

_xXxTylerxXx_

_Part One: Devil in Red_

_"A sick thirst _

_Darkens my veins"-_

_Arthur Rimbaud_

**1**

**Tonight I dress to kill. **

**I look through my closet and pick out the tiny polka-dot dress I brought on sale at Monty's last week. It's the kind of dress that won't scare anyone off, the way leather and even velvet scares some men away. It's a pretty but common enough little dress, short withought being too short, if you're careful. And tonight I don't intend to be careful.**

**I remember how the husbands waiting by the dressing room looked at me when I came out with it on to get the salegirl's opion. It's one of those dresses that looks like it was made for me, tight around the waist, making me look bustier than I really am. I like the feel of my nipples against the soft cotton. **

**Underneath I'm not wearing much; nosense complicating matters. Just a pair of sheer stockings held up at the thighs with a strip of lacy elastic and a g-string that hardly covers anything at all. If I bend over I'll have absolutely no secrets.**

**I spritz on one of my favorite perfumes.**

**Tonight, it's Poison. I spray it everywhere I imagine I want my lover to kiss me.**

**I don't wear any jewelry except for a silver anklet as a kind of reminder and a tiny cross as a kind of joke.**

**I put on a little make-up, nothing dramatic.**

**Because my mouth is my best feature, I pay particular attention to my lipstick: red, vivid, cherry.**

**I slide my feet into a pair of blue-black Kasa stilettos. They cost a fortune but they look so sexy in the window I couldn't resist them. They are fantasy shoes, the kind of shoes I would have felt too self-conscious to wear not long ago, but now they seem as natural to me as going barefoot. Not to mention the fact that they make my legs look as if they go on forever. They have already proved to be worth every penny too, judging from the results I get whenever I wear them.**

**Sometimes it pays to splurge.**

**It is a cool night, so I choose a light denim jacket, something a little fun and funky, but not enough to make me look like a streetwalker.**

**Out of habit I glance at the mirror for a last look at myself before I walk to the door.**

**It never fails to shock me that there is no one looking back.**


	3. Chapter 2

_**Review please! I don't own everything, except for some characters! **_

_**2**_

_His name was Gaara Sabaku. I met him at a poetry reading on the East side of Konoha. He was tall and pale and dressed in black. His erect, aristocratic form rising above the company of mere mortals drew my attention like a lightning rod. I found my gaze drifting back to him again and again, my mind engaged in an illicit fantasy, no longer paying attention to the prattle of the poet at the podium. Once he turned unexpectedly and looked directly at me and for a split second I was unable to turn away, frozen in the glare of his incredible emerald eyes. He smiled knowingly and I felt the blood rush to my face, my heart pounding in my ears, as if my head would suddenly just explode. I managed to turn away then, mortified, and fixed my attention on the poet, his words as meaningless now as if he spoke in a different language._

_Afterwards there was a small wine-and-cheese reception for the audience. I made my way to the table and grabbed a small cup of white wine. I noticed my hands were shaking and I put the cup down. I was going to leave. I knew I should leave and yet something kept me there. I knew what it was and I didn't want to admit it. Suddenly I felt him standing behiond me, looming over me, and I imagined I could feel his breath on the back of my neck, where my hair was spikiest._

_"Excuse me," he said, the slightest trace of accent in his voice, but of what origin I couldn't say._

_"Yes," I said, turning around too quickly, exactly as if I'd been expecting him all along._

_I saw him smile again. It was a nice smile, the kind that gives a man character and substance. He had a rugged-looking face and yet there was an unmistakable refinement about his looks. He looked like an aristocrat who has fallen on bad times. The black rings around his eyes made from isomnia or great loss. His hair a beautiful red! I found it impossible to fix his age. He might have been thirty as well as twenty-five._

_"I noticed you didn't care for your wine either," he said, just the right touch of amusement in his voice. "Neither did I. Perhaps we can find something that better suits our tastes. I know a place close by."_

_We had espresso at a nearby coffeehouse. I had to get up early for work the next day and expressed my concern that the caffeine would keep me up all night, but he convinced me that it would be worth the insomnia. 'It was the best espresso in the city,' he said. 'And, after all, you only lived once.' It all seemed so perfect, so terribly romantic, the poetry reading, the cold autumn night, the meeting with this tall, dark(despite his red hair-I'm talking about his character), handsome stranger. I ordered the espresso. He was right; it was the best I'd ever tasted._

_I was nervous and confused. I didn't ordinarily do this sort of thing. Let's face it. How often does a man(a gay-cross-dressing one at that) have the opportunity to do this sort of thing? I felt like I was speeding down a one-way street going the wrong way, with no brakes, and all I could do was hold onto the wheel for dear life. He asked me what I thought of the poetry we heard and I told him I liked it well enough. The poet was fairly well-known and reviewed and I thought it politick to admire him._

_Gaara demured._

_He said he thought the man's verse was self-indulgent and without passion. When I admitted I'd really felt the same way, he playfully admonished me for lying earlier. 'I shouldn't worry about appearing unsophisicated,' he said. 'If more people were honest about their true tastes, the arts wouldn't be in the sorry state they were in today. Then he asked me if I'd ever read Dante Rossetti._

_I admitted I hadn't._

_"So much the pity," he said, as if it truly did pain him. "He was a great poet. Fallen into disfavor nowadays I suppose."_

_He asked me about myself and I found myself talking, babbling. I told him how I'd come to the city five years ago from a small town in West Virginia to take the literary world by storm with my poetry and how instead I found myself working as a window dresser in a downtown department store.Also, that I loved dressing as a woman. I just couldn't seem to shut up. Maybe it was the caffeine. I was sure that I was boring him, amusing him at best, and I couldn't have blamed him if he hadn't been paying attention to a thing I said. Yet when I finally exhausted myself and shut up long enough to give him a chance to speak, he surprised me by saying he'd be interested in reading some of my work. It might have been only a line, an excuse to get us back to my loft, but it was sweet of him to say, because he must have known by now that he wasn't going to need a line with me._

_We made love that very first night(or we were...). He stood in the shadows at the corner of my bedroom, the light from the window shining on one side of his handsome face, the other side in darkness. He watched as I undressed for him, watched without saying anything, as I removed my shoes, my jeans, my blouse. I reached behind me and undid my bra, letting it-and the cups- fall to the floor at my feet. I could go no further. I stood there in the semi-dark with my head bowed, eyes closed, my heart pounding against my naked chest._

_He came to me quietly, his hands falling like ashes on my trembling shoulders, and kissed me. He kissed me as if savoring me, long and lingering, drinking me in with his mouth. He lifted me up and lay me back on the bed as I don't think I could have stood nany longer. With deft hands he finished what I could not finish myself, sliding my panties down to my ankles. Ever so gently he parted my legs, moving over me so gracefully I barely felt his weight on the bed, but there was his mouth, his beautiful mouth, and it was as if I were suddenly possessed, speaking in tongues, as he swallowed me whole._

_I came shuddering in his arms, shuddering and weeping, embarrassed and exalted at the same time._

_"Don't be ashamed," he whispered in my ear. "You are a goddess and you don't know it."_

_I don't think I heard him at the time, or, if I did, the words were meaningless. A bomb might have exploded under the bed and I wouldn't have heard it. But the words must have registered in my subconscious because I remember them as if he were whispering them in my ear right now._

_Afterwards, when I regained some of my senses, I reached awkwardly to the nightstand where I kept a box of condoms from my days with Sasuke. I noticed, however, that Gaara was already off the bed, sitting in a chair in the corner, looking down at me._

_"I have to go," he said._

_"Don't you want to-?"_

_"It's nearly morning."_

_I looked past him toward the window and saw that what he said was true, the grimy buildings across the street were awash in the first rays of false dawn._

_"I'm sorry," I said. "I lost track of the time. Please-"_

_He put a finger to his lips and a ghost of a smile played on his lips._

_"Not to worry little one," he said. "There will be other nights."_

_He kissed me on the forehead, a kiss as light and beautiful as an angel's fingerprint and left me lying there naked in the growing dawn. Only later, as I was dressing for work, did I notice that he had actually taken the envelope of poems I had shyly gathered for him from among the clutter of my desk, never really expecting that he'd be interested._

_I knew at that moment I was in love._

_I hope you all enjoyed the story so far! Please review, I would appreciated it alot! ._

_A/N: The pattern of this story is After and Before(ex:chapter one is after naruto was turned; chapter two is before he was changed) if you're still confused tell me! _


	4. Chapter 3 pt 1

**3  
****I meet the man I'm looking for at the revolving bar at the Coilette on Broadway. I recognize him immediately from the description he gave Sakura at the escort service. Most people don't give a good description of themselves even though they see their reflections a dozen or more times a day. But this man described himself with the accuracy of a photograph. He is sitting there nursing a drink when I sit a few seats down from him. He looks tired and uncertain, but if he weren't hungry he should be upstairs in the safety of his room at this hour.**

**I order a simple red wine and wait for him to look over. I don't have long to wait. I see his eyes in the mirror behind the bar. They look confused at first and then I can tell he just figures it is the angle of the glass that makes it impossible to see me. What other explanation can there be? Then I feel his eyes on me, wet, eager, hot as furtive kisses.**

**Usually they want me to meet them at their rooms, but he is apparently the cautious type. He wants to check me out. I don't mind. I like to check them out, too. I'm not worried about being recognized or later remembered. The bartender has seen this routine a million times. It's part of his job to stare through his clientele, mind his own business.**

**The bar is moving slowly, so slowly you might hardly notice, but through the windows the scenery keeps subtly changing. From down below in the streets you can hear the faint sounds of the obiquitous traffic.**

**"This is some bar," he says, his voice a soft and southern drawl. "The more you drink, the less the room spins."**

**I turn to him, nod and smile shyly. He is a pleasant-looking man, forty, maybe forty-five from the smell of him, blonde and healthy, quite handsome in a pale, genteel way. I guess him to be an executive up north on business for a few days. He has that look of uneasy familiarity that most regular travelers to New York City have.**

**And for good reason.**

**"It's a nice night," he says, trying again. He gestures towards the window revolving slowly around us. "Nicest weather since I've arrived."**

**I see his eyes drop down to my breasts as he speaks, but then I can hardly blame him. I have dressed for precisely that result. I cross my legs, letting the short skirt ride up high, and then higher up my thighs, showing off the tops of my stockings. I make it look like an accident, as if I don't know I'm nearly showing him everything.**

**"Have you been here long?"I ask, sipping my wine carefully. Too much too fast and it goes straight to my head.**

**"Only a week. I'm here on business from Atlanta. I work for a large communications conglomerate: publishing houses, magazines, recording studios."**

**I have heard many of these barroom stories. You might say it's an occupational hazard. Most of the stories are more innocent exaggeration than outright lies. They are told by sad, lonely men trying to make their lives more interesting than they really are. They are doing it as much for themselves as they are for me. I usually listen to what they have to say with a sympathetic ear if I'm not too hungry. Tonight I have time before getting down to business.**

**"Sounds interesting," I say.**

**"Well, it is sometimes," he says, as if surprised. "I get to meet a lot of artistic types. Do you know Phillip Glass?"  
"Yes, I've heard of him."**

**"Well, we represent him. Our latest venture is a combination of contemporary classical and avante-garde music that we're hoping will catch on with the post-MTV crowd. I don't have a lot to do with the creative side of the business though," he says, almost as if he were apologizing for letting me down. I admire his honesty. "I'm more in the numbers game. I'm an accountant."**

**"I'm trying to break into the business myself. I'm an actress," I say. It's a lie, of course, but most men seem to like to hear that you're not a professional whore, but a girl somehow forced by circumstance to sell her body. In a way, I am an actress; every vampire mistress is a woman playing a role.**

**"Have you had any luck so far?"**

**"No," I say, trying to look sad. "I got a bit part in a daytime soap but that's about it. My character was killed off by a jealous lover. I'm getting pretty discouraged. I'm thinking of giving up and going back home."**

**"Where's home?"**

**"Taki," I say. I know that's laying it on a little thick and he must know it's a lie, but there comes a point where you both cross over into fantasy.**

**"Well, you're pretty enough to be an actress," he says and looks away, as if embarassed.**

**"Thank you," I say. It's time to make my move now. "I was going to meet my boyfriend here around midnight but it looks like he stood me up," I say, all part of the game. If he's a cop, he can't go much further without risking a charge of entrapment in court.**

**"What time was he supposed to meet you?"**

**I glance down at my wrist out of force of habit. I'd stopped wearing a watch a long time ago. Now I tell time by the rhythm of my body, by my need for food and rest.**

**"I seem to have forgotten my watch."**

**He stretches his arm, his watch emerging from the monogrammed cuff of his shirt. It is not something so obviously flashy as a Rolex, but it is a good watch all the same.**

**"Nearly one," he says, playing right along. "I don't think your friend is going to come. Perhaps he got caught up in something or just simply forgot."**

**"Perhaps," I say. I look down and smile again. "I'm having a pretty good time anyway."**

**I can almost hear his heart pick up speed. He reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a pack of cigarettes with a wrapper I've never seen before. He offers me one. I had once quit smoking because I thought it was bad for my health. Now I suppose it doesn't matter. Besides, a lot of men still find it sexy for a woman to smoke. There is alot a woman can suggest with a cigarette, and I don't just mean the obvious, if she knows what she is doing. He lights a slender brown cigarette with a black Dunhill lighter, and I inhale deeply letting my eyes close as if I had denied myself the pleasure for a long time. I let the smoke out between my puckered lips in a long reluctant sigh.**

**"That's good," I say. "I quit about three years ago."**

**"I'm sorry," he says and sounds as if he really means it. "I didn't mean to get you started again. I know how hard it is to quit. My -"**

**He stops and I finished the sentence in my mind. ****My wife has been trying to get me to quit.**** "Don't worry," I say, taking another long drag and putting the cigarette down in the ashtray, where he can see the filter, stained with lipstick. "I feel like breaking a couple of good habits tonight."**

**He lights his own cigarette and I notice he is having trouble keeping the flame steady.**

**"My name is Iruka," he says and holds out his hand.**

**"Tsuki," I say and to make it all seem on the up and up I add my last name. My real last name. It won't matter. "Tsuki Uzamaki."**

**His hand is soft and warm.**

**"He must be a real jerk, your boyfriend, if you don't mind me saying so."**

**"He is a real jerk. I'm afraid this isn't the first time he's done something like this."**

**"Why do you put up with it?"**

**"Why do we desire anything that's not good for us? I suppose we always want what we can't have."**

**"I just want you to know that I don't usually do this sort of thing," he says. "But my wife, she's been ill. Cancer, inoperable, she was diagnosed two years ago. It's been so long since . . ."**

**He's about to go on, but I put a finger to my lips. "It's not necessary. I understand."**

**He's blushing and the scent of it is more intoxicating than the wine. I want to kiss him right then and there.**

**"Can I buy you a drink?"**

**TBC....**

**I hope my readers enjoy, don't forget to review!**


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